Bunheads
by violindancer2277
Summary: Massie is a corps ballet member in the New York Ballet. She and her friends have lived, breathed, and commited to ballet. She knows she has another talent, but will she be able let go of what she's been doing all of her life? This is not based off the tv show Bunheads, but off the book by Sophie Flack. I made up some characters, but most of them go to her.
1. Symphony in C

_ My name is Massie. I am not a ballerina. Ballerinas are what little girls' dream of being. They dream of pink frou-frou tutus and baby pink leotards, silky pointe shoes, sparkling tiaras. They dream of twirling on their tip toes and getting thousands of claps from the audience. They think that ballet is easy; that it's just bending knees and spinning. They, and other people don't know that I go through every night at the New York Ballet. They don't know that I spend six hours prepping my pointe shoes so they fit to my feet and then break them in under ten minutes. They don't know that I have double, triple, or quadruple headers each night. They don't know what the term "corps de ballet" means. They think that anyone who dances on pointe is a star; a soloist. They probably don't get that we practice weeks and weeks over and over for just one show. We are sore, tired, worried. They don't get that if Advil, other painkillers, pointe shoes, and band-aids weren't supplied for us dancers, we'd be out on the streets_

_ They probably don't get the pain, hard work, blood, sweat, and tears that we shed every hour. That sweating is a sign of weakness; if you sweat it means you can't handle the pressure of being soloist. Nobody gets that you have to stay thin, stick-like. If not, you have to be forced to lose weight. You have to have perfect posture, memorize hours of choreographing, and still go to school. Little girls and other people don't understand. _

_ My name is Massie. Don't call me a ballerina._

**Fall Season**

Chapter 1: Symphony in C

"It's show time everyone!" Everyone is backstage in the Green Room, which is where costumes, last minute makeup checks, and the sewing of pointe shoes always happen. The backstage manager, Amanda squeezes through the double doors, her usual on; Bluetooth headset and the black four inch Manolo wedges. "Did you hear me?" She barks into her headset, shaking her super high and glossy dark blonde ponytail. "There are five minutes till show time." She stares at the mess of girls throwing their pointe shoes on, costumes being altered, eyelashes being mascara-ed. She takes one long look at everyone, and then notices one girl. "Adrianna," She wails, her hands thrown above her head. "Why isn't your makeup done?"

Adrianna wrinkles her pointy powdered nose and sighs. "Don't worry," She stares at herself through the light trimmed mirror and examines the red rose bud lips that the makeup artist is trying to give her. She opens her mouth to reassure the wailing stage manager, but the makeup artist picks up a tube of bright red lipstick and starts to brush it on her thin lips, trying to make them seem plumper.

The stage manager stomps out of the room, her yelling into the headset inaudible with the sound of the dancers. I pick up the large diamond flower that's almost as big as my bun. "Why do we have to wear these?" My best friend Zoe whines. Her golden blonde hair is just like mine; skillfully slicked back in a French twist, and she too is holding a huge reflective flower.

I pick up some bobby pins and secure it over my bun; instructions for all of us corps dancers. "I don't know." While Zoe stabs her perfect bun with sharp bobby pins, trying to get the diamond flower to stay in her hair, I examine my face.

I have chocolate brown hair that is glossy, smooth, and reaches lower than my shoulders. My eyes are a mix of purple and blue, but they are mainly purple. I have plump lips that slightly protrude out, revealing a pout, arched eyebrows, naturally long eyelashes, and high cheekbones. My teeth are extremely straight and very white. My body is petite and perfect for ballet; flat in the right places. But most of that will not show tonight. I will be a sparkly Swarovski cloud; thanks to the Symphony in C we have to do tonight. The makeup artist has already attacked me and Zoe, giving us red rosebud lips, gold and silver eyelids, has lined our eyes with a super thin line of black liquid eyeliner, arching it a bit and then sticking in three small rhinestones on the curve.

We look weird, with our pancake makeup and this extra little touch. But it fits the fanaticism of the ballet, and we have to go with it. Zoe whirls around from the mirror. She's a blonde and ice blue eyed version of me. We both even have the same, petite nose. "I hate doing Symphony in C." She slides down from the chipped white makeup counter that wraps around the walls of the Green Room. "Especially when it's the whole corps that has to do it." She digs through her metallic MK tote and pulls out her iPhone.

I do the same, and turn it on. We have one minute till the stage managers will come and drag us out, and two minutes till the ballet starts. I hear Adrianna in the background smacking her gum and telling the makeup artist to hurry up. Zoe giggles. Adrianna and another girl Daisy are amateur dancers, and don't really count in the corps. And of course they are in me and Zoe's dressing rooms, along with one of my old friends Bea and an older dancer named Leni.

We all then hear the click-stomp of heels and we know its Amanda. She sticks her head through the doors and yells. "Everybody out. Show starts in one minute."

Everyone swarms out. Pointe shoes are smashed in rosin, lip gloss is applied to lips, jackets are peeled off, gum is spit out, etc. Zoe and I pull off our Juicy Couture hoodies, leg warmers, grab our Evian waters, and pick up the backup stage makeup bag from our purses. We follow everyone out, and Zoe turns the light off behind her. We squeeze backstage and examine our selves in the large mirrors that are on the left wing. Our costumes are white silk covered with gold, silver, and diamond colored Swarovski crystals. Zoe applies a final coat of clear Chanel lip gloss to her pouty lips and then dips her foot in rosin. I do the same, plié, and then raise up in a forest arch; trying to break into my shoes. They're a little stiff, but they'll do. Then, my dance partner Jonathan appears from behind the thick black curtain. "You ready?" He asks, his gray eyes eyeing the stage that the stagehands are busily setting up for.

I nod. "Yeah,"

Zoe's partner Marc also appears from the black velvet curtain. "Show time is in….." He trails off, doing a lame duck turn into the wall.

We all laugh, and then get shushed by the lighting crew. Zoe shoots them icy glares, letting them know that she is in higher power than they are. They quickly leave us alone, going back to fix the spotlight. Then, the intermission music drops and then audience's excited chatter dies down. The lights from the opera house dim down so that the audience can't see anything. Quickly, the soloist Lottie steps on stage. Her auburn hair is in a beautiful bun and diamond studs sparkle in her ears. Her super thin white pancake tutu sparkles and snaps with every practice turn. Everything is dark, but the music starts. The curtain slowly rises, revealing Lottie, who is in fifth arabesque; her back leg extended at least 140 degrees. The audience claps and then Lottie comes to life. She triple pique turns over around the stage and then throws herself into high jump after another.

When the music picks up and switches from a perky petite allegro to a grand allegro, it's the corps turn to come out. Jonathan counts to three and then lifts me up in a mid air leap above his head. He chasse's across the stage, and I get the fluttery feeling of being a butterfly. He throws me across the stage, and then he runs off. I pirouette around Lottie with the rest of the corps de ballet, and then fouetté diagonally off the stage. I waltz turn back on, swirling with the rest of the corps. We join together, doing intricate pointe work with our feet

Jonathan leaps back on stage as the music crescendos. We swirl with the rest of the corps. And then the music drops to an adagio. He lifts me in a very small press lift. Lottie's partner rushes on stage, and then we bourrée out.

I wipe sweat from my forehead. After ten minutes of dancing onstage, I'm done for the night. I collapse on the floor, not caring if my gray pancake tutu gets smashed. I dig through my makeup bag and ignore the tubes of lipstick, mascara, and dishes of blush. I leave my mini jar of pancake foundation and little puff in there. "Where are you?" I mutter to myself, digging through the Clinique apple print bag. Then I find it. I pull out the little white plastic bottle of Advil and drop one in my palm. I take a swig of Evian and then swallow the little white pill. My sore muscles tingle, but soon they'll feel better soon. Zoe falls out from behind the black curtain. Black fuzz is on her gray leotard.

She snatches the Advil bottle from my hand and swallows one without water. Pain is written all over her face, but she refuses to go get an ice pack. "I'm glad that's over with." She says, and wipes her forehead with the Advil bottle. I laugh.

"Give me that bottle," I snatched it from her and wiped the sweat off the slippery bottle. We grinned, even though pain was flashing through our bodies. Onstage, Lottie twirled, her crystal covered tutu sparkling in the lights. We watch as she, one of the best soloists at the New York Ballet Company, swivel turns across the stage and whirls into a pique arabesque.

"I want to be soloist so bad!" Zoe slaps her sore thighs and stares at Lottie enviously.

I sigh. It was all of us corps de ballet members dream's to become a soloist. The opportunity would come soon, but would it be worth the wait?


	2. Apollo

Chapter 2:

I take another sip of my venti Starbucks latte. It's 10:23 in the morning and Zoe and I getting ready for class after lunchtime. "I hope that Peter will notice me." She says, digging through the messy mass of tights and leotards. She pulls out a pair of shell pink tights and examines them.

"He's not teaching class today, anyway." I say, and then set my latte down on the shiny wood floor. "Mr. Edmunds is." I say with a groan.

Zoe hurls the tights on the floor and pulls out another pair; these are a light grayish-pink. She wrinkles her nose at them and then sets them down next to her. She starts looking for a leotard. "I just want to have a solo role." Zoe tucks a thin loose piece of blonde hair behind her ear and then pulls out a plain black spaghetti strapped leo.

I sigh. "Every corps dancer wants to be promoted, Zoe." I roll up the bottoms of my gray Nike Hyperwarm pants and pull my tights down so they can cover my feet.

"I know," She says, her eyes tired. Quickly, she yanks her track pants and NYB t'shirt off and slips into the tights and leotard.

"Yeah," I murmer; half to Zoe and half to myself. I take another sip of my latte. Then, the door to our dressing room bursts open. It's Daisy and Bea. They are wearing sweatshirts and jeans; thier hair already up in buns.

"Good morning, everyone." Daisy trills as she slings her Danskin duffle and The Limited tote over her dressing table chair. Bea follows her inside, and then closes the door.

Bea steps around Zoe's mess of clothes and grins at us. "Hey." She sets her theater case and duffle bag on the floor and walks over to the kitchen on her side of the room. Bea gets a strawberry protien bar down from the mini pantry and rips it open. A burst of sweet berries fills the room.

"Good grief, Bea." Zoe snaps. "Can you eat something more headache leading? That strawberry smell is so fake." Zoe rubs her forehead and then takes a large gulp of her latte.

Bea rolls the wrapper down and takes a huge bite. "They taste good, and I lose weigth by eating them. So," She waves the bar in Zoe's face, which makes Zoe gag. "No. I will not eat something else."

The microwave beeps. We all jump in surprise and stare at the kitchen on Bea's side. Daisy is pulling something out of it, and suddenly another scent fills the usually vanilla scented air. "What the heck is that?" I yelp, as Daisy rips off the clear plastic wrapping on the mysterious black dish.

Daisy takes her time selecting a fork from the silverware drawer. She picks one up, examines it, and then shuts the drawer with her bony hip. Without a word, she walks over to the middle of the floor and sits down near the rest of us. "FYI," She makes herself comfortable. "This is a new diet meal plan my doctor put me on." Daisy pulls out several plastic packets foggy with steam out of the tray. "And today, I happen to be eating Sundried Tomato Pesto Pasta for my lunch."

Zoe wrinkles her nose. "Ew. That sounds like something they would feed a dog." She gets up from the floor and sits in her dressing table chair.

Daisy bites all of the little packets. We all watch as she squeezes each one, letting the mysterious "sauces" ooze out. The first one looks like pesto, the second is a thin lumpy red sauce, third some garlic oil, and fourth some cheeze sauce. She stirs the watery gluten free noodles with her fork and then takes a bite of her pasta. "Ooh..." She smiles. "Tastes good." She gobbles more bites. I turn away, disgusted.

"Have you guys eaten lunch yet?" Bea asks, finishing her strawberry protien bar. She chucks the wrapper into the trashcan.

Zoe digs her iPad out of her Kooba tote. "Yeah. We had California rolls like, twenty minutes ago." She opens up Angry Birds Seasons and starts playing.

"Mmmmm," Bea sniffs approvingly. She takes another protien bar, panini sandwich, yucca chips, and a Diet Coke out of her Lily Pulitzer purse. She digs into her panini pressed sandwich. "That sounds yum." Bea sets her sandwich down and unwraps another protien bar, this one raspberry. Zoe grits her teeth and then turns away from the protien bar. Even i turn away, for the sweet berry smell is hurting my head. So I open up my pointe shoe bag and pull out the pair I broke in yesterday during class. I'll wear them for the performances tonight. I still have to fix them up, though.

I rip out the packet of matches and extract a match. Lighting the match, I quickly burn the rims of the toe of my pointe shoes. The smell of smoke fills the air, getting rid of Bea's berry scented crap. "Oh wow, Massie." Bea says, staring open mouthed at my shoes. "You ripped the bottoms already?" She fingers a lock of red hair and then twists it up into her bun. "You only wore them for company class yesterday."

Zoe gets up from her perch on her dressing table. "Geesh, Bea. It doesn't take that long to rip the toes. Don't you rip them in company class?" Zoe shows Bea her own feet, which are clad in ripped and dirty pointe shoes.

"No" Daisy answers for Bea. She steals one of Bea's protien bars, takes a big bite of a raspberry protein bar, and then scoots over to me. "Can I look?" She asks, her hair in my match's panoramic fire zone and her berry breath on my cheeks.

I shove her playfully out. "Stop!" She giggles. "You are going to set your hair on fire." Daisy pantomimes stop, drop, and roll.

Bea laughs out loud. "This girl is on fire." She says; pulling on a gray knit top.

Zoe's eyes widen. She's always looking for an opportunity to break out in song. "Thisss- girlll- is -on fiiiirrrreeeee," She sings loudly, her voice booming in the dressing room.

Everyone stares at her. "Ohmygosh." Daisy squeals. "You sing so…..good!"

Zoe motions for me to go get the Yamaha keyboard that the two of us brought so we could mess around. I toss my pointe shoes across the room and blow out my matches. They are tossed in the stainless steel trashcan. I pick it up and sit down next to her. Zoe clears her throat and then starts singing; her voice blending between a sweet soprano and a hint of rasp while I play the FULL piano part. "Girl on Fire" by Alicia Keys echoes out of our room. "She's just a girl, and she's on fi-rrrr-eeee." Zoe sings, her voice matching my perfect piano notes. I arpeggio across the keys and hold down seven note chords with my left hand while my right swirls out the melody.

When we're done, everyone is quiet. Bea is the first to speak. "You sing better than Alicia Keys." She says. "Not joking,"

They both nod. "Totally," Daisy pouts in her spot on the floor.

Adrianna comes out of the bathroom and slams the door shut. Her wet black hair sticks to her face and her lips are pursed in a narrow smile. "That was amazing, Zoe; Massie!" She sets her damp towel on the back of her chair. "So good." She opens up the fridge and pulls out a container of fruit salad and starts munching.

I play the first few measures of Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu while Zoe turns on the Bose speakers. A light jazz music flitters through. "Thanks guys," She says, and then gets back up to her dressing table. I put up the keyboard. We all go back to what we were doing. Daisy throws away the rest of her pasta and starts to doctor a pair of her pointe shoes. Adrianna pulls Moby Dick out of her LeSportsSac duffle and starts to read through the sticky noted and highlighted pages. Bea simply sips her Diet Coke and flips through Daisy's People magazine. Zoe starts to organize her lipsticks and lip glosses. I pull my iPhone out and check my email, and then I decide to finish fixing my pointe shoes.

The room is now quiet; every now and then a bit of jazz crescendos into our ears. This is a life of a ballerina. Only fifty percent thrill; the other half is work, effort, and boredom.

* * *

"Massie? You're on in five." Amanda pokes her head into the Green Room.

I take a sip of water and nod my head. "I got it, don't worry." She hobbles off.

The air is thick; sweaty; makeup filled. I leave my position near the door and hurry over to wear I am supposed to get my costume. Girls are yelling at flustered costume makers, trying to explain that something is not right. Unfortunately, since most of the costume makers are being taken up by the stupid apprentice dancers, I am stuck with attempting to find the costume myself in a giant pile of glitter and tulle. I dig through the mess, my hands rubbing against crystals and soft satin.

Suddenly, someone taps my shoulder. "Massie. Here," It's Anna, one of the costume drapers. Her voice is exasperated; tired. She shoves me my costume for Apollo and then runs off. It's a sheer white Grecian style dress that's formfitting but slightly loose. I slip it on over my pointe shoes and clean white tights (I have to wear white, not pink in this ballet) and then escape the mess of the Green Room. Once i am backstage, the quietness engulfs me. It's dark and calm, unlike the room i just left. The orchestra warms-up in front of the stage. I can hear every string being vibrated, crescendos, and trills. I was meant for Fine Arts. Quickly, I hurry over to the left wing.

Sam, the main soloist in Apollo, is waiting with Lottie in the wings. THey are practicing the pat de deux in the andante section. I watch as Sam lifts Lottie high above his head and then Lottie extends her back leg into a full 120 degree etude. Sam pique turns her down and then they seperate. I clap silently, letting them know i was watcching them. "Amazing." I whisper.

Lottie wipes sweat off her forehead. "Thanks, Mass." She dabs her pointe shoes in a little more rosin and then does a few eleves to work into the shoes. Footsteps hurry behind me. It's Zoe.

"Sorry I'm late." She pants. "I couldn't get my costume out. It was like a mosh pit in there." we all laugh. Then, the music swells and the audience quiets down. We all snap into serious mode. The lights dim and we hurry out onto the dark stage.

Sam stands in his position at left center, and then three of us stand in b-plus in a diagonal behind him. I can hear Amanda hushing people backstage. THe lights darken even more. The curtain draws up and I pointe and push every muscle till it hurts. The orchestra begins to play and we snap into action. Sam dances with Lottie while Zoe and I stay in the foreground.

I pique across the stage and then waltz in unison with Zoe. Lottie is lifted up above Sam's head and we bourree out, for it's time for thier pat de deux. The orchestra swells and the tempo drops. Onstage, Sam twirls Lottie into an arabesque. They spin inunison. I take a sip of water. Zoe wrinkles her nose as she rips off a piece of Ouch Pouch and slids it on under her pointe shoe pad. I peer through the curtains. Lottie looks like a model; her auburn hair glinting from a gloss treatment and her eyes shining like emeralds.

Zoe leans in to me. I can smell her Chanel perfume, sweat, and baby powder. "She's so amazing." Her words whisper into my ear.

Then, the sound of leather shoes shuffle across backstage. My reply catches in my chest. Slowly, we turn around. Peter Martins is standing there, sipping Evian. He's wearing expensive jeans, a RL button down, and Ferragamos. He gives us a half smile, and then leans against the wall. HIs eyes examine Lottie and Sam dancing together. Zoe pinches my arm. "Let's go, Massie." She hisses. "It's time for our part." She grabs me by the crook of my elbow.

I nod, and then rub soem more rosin into my shoes. We fouette across the stage and then tombe pique aroudn Sam. He lifts me up and twirls me around and then swirls a press lift into me and Lottie. THe orchestra picks up tempo. We all piroutte and leap across each accented note. We finish with a smile. The audience claps so hard, our ears ring. The velvet curtain closes. Peter claps and walks on stage, sheilded by the curtains. "Excellent job, Lottie. Sam, excellent. And you two..." He points to us. We stare like lost does; our eyes as large as saucers. "That was wonderful. Look out for a solo role soon, eh?" HE walks off.

Zoe and I squeal sliently. A compliment from Peter meant you were going onward in your ballet career. We hop up and down and then literally skip off stage. Daisy and Adrianne are waiting for us in the hallway. "Ehmahgawsh!" Daisy blurs her words together. "You did ah-mazing and you got a compliment from Peter! Soloist here you guys go!" Her voice escaldes across the dark hall. Adrianne's lips lift from a scowl to a sugar incrusted fake smile.

"Yah." She mutters. "Good job." Adrianne whirls around, her blue-black ponytail whipping her cheeks.

Daisy rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "Whats up with that chica?" She smiles, and then gives both of us hugs. While Zoe goes on the gush and brag about her role in Apollo, I wipe the sweat from my face and walk over to the scedule board. My finger scans the sheet. I have rehersals tommrow starting at 3:00, and a warmup class after lunch. Then i remember that tommrow is THursday. Piano lesson day. My fingers shadow the pattern of Chopin's Nocturne in C flat minor. I smile, and then turn away.

My face comes face to face with Adrianne. Her eyes shoot daggers into my skull. "Um...Adrianne?" I ask, slowly backing away from her. "You okay?"

She bites her lips. "Just...nothing." We walk down the hall to our dressing room. She mumbles something about doing Orpheus after intermission, but all i can think about is that i got a compliment from Peter. Soloist, here i come.


	3. Quasi una fantasia: Presto Agitato

Chapter 3:

I wake up to the sound of Zoe's alarm blaring off at full blast. "Zoe.." I mumb;e in my sleep. "Turn it off." FIve minutes pass and then it goes off again. I get up, furiated, and then I chuck her white iHome to the floor. Zoe stirs in her bed across the room.

I try to go back to bed, but the alarm has rotted my brain. I slide out of my purple duvet clad bed and let my feet touch the fluffy white carpet. Sunlight streams from our balcony window.

I slide out of bed and look around. Zoe's still asleep, her head under her pillow. I giggle silently and then creep out of bed. Bella, her miniature Border collie, shakes as she gets up from Zoe's bed. I give her a pat on the head. Zoe and I share a penthouse near NYBA. It has a large living room and kitchen downstairs, and both are clean, sharp, and modern. Upstairs is the large bedroom we share (it's like a HUGE dorm room) two master bathrooms, and a large music room. The whole penthouse is huge, spacious, and classic.

My pomeranian Ivanna gets up and starts licking my Essie covered toes. "Stop." I giggle, but pick her up and give her a hug. She licks my face. "Ugh." I set her down and wipe my face off. After walking to the bathroom and getting ready, I emerge. Soon I am fully dressed in jeans, a plum and grey striped sweater, Tory Burch riding boots, and plum colored knee high socks that match my sweater. The heels of my boots click and clack as I descend down the stairs into the kitchen. I'm only wearing a little bit of makeup; foundation and conceler where neaded, some peach MAC eyeshadow, clear Chanel lipgloss, a Lemon Drop Eos, etc. My hair is down around my face, straight and natural.

Quickly, I make myself a breakfast of scrambled eggs, light turkey bacon, and Kashi Golean cereal. I throw all of the ingredients for a power smoothie into the Vita-Mix and then hit blend. After pouring myself a tall glass of the frosted fruit, I sit down at the breakfast table and stare out at the New York skyline. The tall skyscrapers peer down at me. I sip the smoothie and then spoon cereal into my mouth. Then, the scuffing sound of slippers down the black spiral staircase makes me turn around.

"Good morning," Zoe yawns. Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun at the top of her head. She's wearing an ivory Michael Stars tank top, Juicy shorts, and UGG slippers. She shuffles to the kitchen and throws some Kashi in a bowl and then slaps some bacon on a plate.

"Hey." I stab a piece of egg with a fork and then grin at her. She gives me a weak smile and then sits down across from me.

Zoe takes a sip of smoothie. "Ugh," She groans. "Apollo and Orpheus took forever last night." She pops her back and then rubs her temples. "And we have it again tonight."

I nibble on a piece of bacon. "Yeah, but at least you don't have to do Sophisticated Lady tomorrow. Valentino still hasn't measured me for the costume." I give an exasperated sigh and then finish the turkey bacon.

Zoe rolls her eyes. "Good luck with that." She snaps. Zoe's still pissed that I got to be the one who would do the showcase show tomorrow, instead of Lottie.

I laugh. I too have felt the wrath of the schedule, whenever zoe got solo roles a few months ago and i got nothing. Nada. Zoe finishes her smoothie and stands up. "I'll go get dressed and then we can head down to Julliard."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, we're standing at the foot of our penthouse apartment. The luxury building's glass doors swish open and close as people walk in and out. We smile to the doorman, and then walk down the sidewalk. Zoe's boots click across the frosty ground. She's warmly dressed like i am; in a blue sweater, skinny jeans, black Tory Burch riding boots, blue and gray argyle boot socks, a black peacoat (the same one I''m wearing), a blue beret tilted just a tad, and blue gloves. Her black Coach tote purse dangles from one arm, and she carries all of her music in the other. We chat while we speedwalk.

I avoid a couple walking hand in hand down the street. My plum slouch hat slides down on my face, hitting my Ray Bans. I push it up with my gloved fingers and then adjust my plum scarf. When you have to walk even two minutes in fall in New York, you have to dress warmly. We thankfully live two minutes away from NYCB, which is four minutes away from Julliard. It takes us about fifteen-twenty minutes to walk to Julliard. Zoe sips her Starbucks latte (we had to make a quick stop earlier before we left) and shivers. "I hate walking when it's cold." She turns the corner. I follow her and nod.

"Yeah." A little later, we reach Julliard. Zoe goes to find her vocal teacher on the 6th floor. I get in the elevator with some brass students and go to the 8th floor. As the elevator opens up, the smell of crisp paper, coffee, vanilla, and expensive perfume meets my nose. I open up room 815 and stick my head inside. Sunlight pours in through the large windows and gleams on the shiny hardwood floor. The black grand piano sits in the middle of the room. Yasmin Keplesky, one of my piano teachers who is from Turkey, sits at her desk. Her French tipped nails type at her Mac's keyboard.

"Mah-ssie!" She smiles, her red lipsticked mouth opening up to reveal her straight, white teeth. "Good morning, dah-ling." She trills, her accent slicing each word. Dr. Keplesky gets up. Her glossy raven hair is pulled up in a low chignon and her olive/ivory skin is slightly sun kissed. She's wearing an expensive pair of black Gucci pants, Louboutin pumps, and a silvery blue blouse. "How was your wee-ek? She picks up some music from her desk and walks over to me, her four inch heels tapping against teh floor.

I set my Coach tote purse, coat, gloves, hat, scarf, and Starbucks mug on a side table. "It was good." I set my music on the piano and sit down on the stool and start running a few pieces.

Yasmin shuffles the music in her hands and stands to the side while I quickly play Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, Presto Agitato. When I'm done, she claps softly. "Good. Keep the tempo up, up, up. But do not rush, you know what I am saying, no?" She motions for me to scoot over and quickly runs the piece. I play the notes over and over with my hands patting on my jeans. She sets some more Chopin music down and claps her hands. "Begin."

I go through all of the pieces in two hours. We stop every ten minutes for etudes and arpeggio warm-ups, and every half hour I sip water. When I am done, I pick up all of the new and old pieces. Yasmin smiles. "Oui," She says French in her Turkish accent. "You are a prod-i-gee. Please, Miss. Hastings, join Julliard. You have talent-i. Please-a?" IT's the same thing she says every lesson, every week. Her lips purse in a pouty smile and her chocolate brown eyes gleam, pleading with me.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Keplesky. It's just that the ballet company needs me. I don't have the time for Julliard." I pull my Coach over my arm and wave to her goodbye. "See you later, Dr. Keplesky."

She waves back, her lipsticked mouth smiling, and her silver bangles jingling on her thin wrists. I open up the heavy studio door. The lock clicks and makes a kissing sound as I struggle opening it up. Another one of Yasmin's students stands there, staring at a Bach piano piece. Her white-blonde hair has golden lemony highlights and she has it up in a long, loose ponytail. We exchange smiles, and then she slips in the door. I hear Yasmin say, "Ahh, Lucy. How good to see you again. Did the Telemann go good?"

I walk down the hall and head into the elevator. Zoe is waiting patiently inside, nibbling on a LUNA bar. "What took you so long?" She rolls up the sleeves of her Cremeux sweater and pushes the 5th floor button.

"Dr. Keplesky made me run some extra pieces." I pull out a bottle of Evian from my silver tote and drink selfishly. Zoe smiles.

"I had a good lesson, did you?" She smiles, boasting a tad. "Madame Charpelle said I was "Ex-ce-ll-en-te"," She trills. We laugh. The elevator beeps and the doors open. We both hop out. Zoe finds her next proffessors studio and I head down to Soo Yun Kang's room. The South Korean teacher is my other piano professor. He very talented. I have him every week, while I only have Dr. Keplesky every other week. On the other weeks that I don't have Yasmin, I have Madame La Fluer. I throw open up the double doors to his studio. Dr. Wang is at the piano, performing a quick Handel warm up piece.

"Ahn-young-hah-say-oh." I say in Korean as I close the door behind me. Dr. Wang grins.

"Ah, Massie. HEllo." I slip off my boots at the door and then set my stuff down on a marble table. Dr. Wang follows some Korean customs in his studio, and one of them is removing your shoes. I know this because I am half-Korean. It is a large surprise to most people, but when they look at me they can start to see the Korean. My almond shaped eyes, slightly olive skin, etc. We chat for a while in both Korean and English. He makes me some Korean ginger tea (yum!) and then I practice piano for two hours. At the end of the lesson, he sips his second mug of tea and hands me some audition papers.

I stare at them confused. "I want you to pick several pieces and audition for Julliard's International Piano Comptetition. You are defiantly qualified and I want other countries to see your talent." He says, pointing out pieces of information. "There needs to be at least one Baroque, one Romantic, and one Modern piece. A minimum of five total. The competition is in the Spring. I hope you can do this, Massie. If you do, you could win." He slips his Calvin Klein glasses back on and then waves me off. "I will see you next week." He turns to his laptop and starts constructing an email to some students.

"Bye, Dr. Wang." I bow to him, a Korean tradition, and leave. With my shoes on, of course, and with my stuff. I find Zoe's vocal studio. She is finishing an Italian opera piece, something she dislikes but excells at. Of course, her voice excells at everything. Her teacher, Senora Diaza claps along to the perky beat.

"Ah five- ah sixa- ah sevun- ahn eight. And repeat. Ah one- ah two- ah..." HEr voice trails off. I sit down on a bench near the door and examine all the new music I have collected today. Vivaldi, CHopin, Beethoven, Bach, and Brahms stare up at me. Zoe gets out a few minutes later. sweat beads on her forehead.

She wipes it off with a Kleenex from Senora Diaza. "Oh wow." She tells me to get up and we leave. "I am so tired. And now we have to get lunch and then rehersal. Double yay."

"Well, yay for lunch." I watch as we leave Julliard and hop on the breezy streets. Taxi's and cars whoosh bye as we cross the streets. "I say we go eat at Bistro 3-2-1." I refer to a quaint, tasty, and semi expensive little bistro by NYCB.

Zoe nods. "Totally. I am dying for a nice plate of salmon and a dish of pistachio gelato." We giggle, join arms, and then skip to the resturant.


	4. Sophisticated Lady

Chapter 4:

My feet slap across the B level hallway. It's quiet, empty, and smells like expensive perfume and sweat. I finish my mini banana as I reach the double doors that open up to the costume shop. I pull the French doors open and step inside. Afternoon sunlight pours on my skin. Sewing machines are on as costume makers pin and re-pin dresses and tunics. I avoid several mannequins sporting lavender tights and black unitards with belted chiffon skirts. Tutus, tulle, silk, and velvet fill the large and spacious room. There are dancers standing on stepstools as drapers and pinners surround them, measuring the soloists. I find Mark Happel, the head costume shop leader, examining a costume for Rubies. "Hey, Mark." I wave to him and then toss the banana into the trashcan.

He grins. "Good afternoon, Massie. Everything going good for you?" He hands the Rubies costume to Helene, a costume helper.

I nod. "Yes, I'm here for the Sophisticated Lady fitting. Is Valentino here?" I ask.

"I am here." Valentino comes out from behind a curtain. "Mah-ssie. How wonderful to see you." He kisses me on both cheeks. He's wearing an expensive Chanel suit jacket, black dress pants, and a white Ralph Lauren vintage button up. "Anna, go get the Sophisticated Lady costume." HE snaps his fingers at the raven haired girl. She runs off and returns with a sheer reddish dress with ruffles. It's absolutely gorgeous.

Valentino and Mark watch as I slip it on over my leotard and tights. "It fits perfectly!" I say, twirling on the stool.

Valentino nods. "It is parfait." I slip it off and pull on a pair of Nike shorts. Before I can leave though, Valentino shakes his head. "Hold on, you need to try on the Bal de Couture costume." He hands me another costume that he has made. This one is a puffy white pancake tutu. It's pretty, fluffy, and light on my skin. It's a little baggy, so Anna pins it up a bit and quickly sews it in place. When the costume fittings are all done, I say good bye to all of them and leave.

* * *

"Lucky." Adrianne stares at the red Sophisticated Lady costume that I've just put on. Bea comes up behind me and starts helping me with the snaps and buttons. Zoe is somewhere, and Daisy is eating another weird diet dish. This one has carrots, cumin, and crab. All C's. Daisy points at me with her fork.

"You better hurry up." She shovels a mouthful of orange tinted crab meat into her mouth. "You're going to be late."

I wave her off. "Don't worry." Bea finishes snapping me up. "Thanks, B." I give her a hug. She smiles at me, showing off her perfectly straight teeth.

After that, I start pulling curling rollars out of my hair. I don't have to put my hair in a bun for this dance, but it has to be in loose curls/waves. I touch the curls up with a curling iron and then spray them with hairspray. They fall soon after I run backstage, my nude ballet shoes/heels clicking across the ground. Sam, Jonathan, Luke, and other men soloists are waiting in the right and left wings. Jonathan gives me a high five as i adjust the straps of the costume. "You ready?" He asks me.

"Yep." The orchestra starts and then stage turns a hazy gray blue behind the curtains. I run into position. The guys follow behind me. THe ballet goes smoothly. I'm so excited when the audience calls for an "encore" at the end of the night. Slowly, I am amping my way up to be a soloist, one painful ballet at a time.

**Hey guys...**

**Sorry this is such a short chapter. I need to have some part to bring in the next part of rising action. Hope you like the story so far! **

**Thanks!**


	5. Fly Me to the Moon

Chapter 5:

"And jete, jete, assemblé! Pas da bourree, cot, cot!" Peter's voice slices through the crisp air. It's 11:23 and company class time. Studio AB is packed full of soloists and corps members. The mirrors show everyone thier hard work. I stand behind Zoe, who is examining the soloists as they run the petite allegro. "Tombe pas da bourree, assemble derriere. And repeat, repeaet." He claps his hands to the beat, each accent marking a certain step.

Zoe points her feet into B-plus and elbows me. "Get ready." She whisper hisses. We get ready and start the combonation. Zoe and I are a good pair, but we defiantly don't look the same. That's why she's usually paired with Lottie and I am paired with Joanna Chang, the other highest ranking soloist in the company. Not today, thoguh. I jete across the floor, in unison with Zoe. We assemblé at the accents and cot each beat. When we're done, Peter gives us a small nod and then yells at the next pair to begin.

* * *

A breath of cold air stings against my skin. As I walk down the street, the blisters on my toes and heels start to react to the soothing cream I put on them before I bandaged them and slipped on socks. Pedestrians, or ballet talk for regular people, fill the busy New York City lunch time hour. I spy my favorite sandwich place out on the corner, but he lines have people coming ot the door. Everything is busy, which is normal for NYC. I decide to go to a little Italian place two minutes away from NYCB; Cafe Portabello. THe cafe has good food, and it's not usually busy around lunch; dinner is when the crowd hits.

I reach the small cafe. A red awning stretches over the wood and glass moving doors and _Cafe Portabello_ is etched over a window in a gold ink. I let the doors swish me in and stand inside the resturant. It smells like garlic and wine. Jazz music plays from a live band in the bar area. Some college girls are seated at a long table. They squeal when one of them says some bit of gossip and they nibble on crostinis. When the jazz musicians finish a number, they clap loudly. My heart throbs when I see them. Yeah, they're probably not Julliard stdents. But they go to college, and have a good education to look foward to. Me on the other hand, ballet is probably going to get me nowhere.

A thin waitress greets me at the hostess stand. "Welcome to Cafe Portabello. Would you like a table inside, or out in our courtyard?" She picks up a menu and beams at me.

"Um...inside please." I say, trying to find the courtyard she's talking about.

"THis way please." She takes me to a single table near a window and pours me some water. "Do you know what you want to drink or eat yet?" She asks, her MontBlanc poised over a notepad.

I quickly examine the menu. "I'll have a Coke and your fresh bowtie pasta salad." I hand it back to her.

"Good choice." Her black Fossil watch glints in the gold light. "I'll be right back with your Coke and some bread." She walks off, barking orders to the cook once she's in the kitchen.

While I sip my ice cold water, I listen to the jazz band strum thier double basses and their saxaphones. Then, a college aged guy hands someone his trumpet and walks over to the microphone. My eyes stare. He's pretty cute, wearing a pair of worn jeans, Addidas tennis shoes, and a A&F t-shirt. The band starts a famliar Frank Sinatra melody, _Fly Me To the Moon_. He taps the beat out with the drummer and then starts singing.

"Fly me to the moon, so I can sing among those stars. Let me see what spring is like. On Jupiter and Mars." He croons. His voice is defiantly not Micheal Buble or famous worthy, but its still pretty good. Its unique, a blend of deepness and jazz. "In other words, hold my hand. In other words, baby, kiss me." THe band grows a crescendo as they melody hits. When he's done, everyone claps loudly. The waitres brings me my Coke and a basket of breadsticks, warm and toasty. I listen to the guy sing for a while, eating bread and sipping my drinks. Then, he leaves the set. The jazz band just lightly plays. Everyone goes back to talking.

The guy scans the room and his eyes spy an empty table, which happens to be right near me. HE sits down. THe waitress comes back around, with my basil, tomato bowtie pasta salad and another menu. She hands the pasta to me and walks to the guy. "Do you know anything you'd like?" She asks.

He nods. "I'll take a Budwieser and some pesto rigatoni." HIs deep voice says. After the waitress leaves, he notices me. "That looks good." He says, motioning to my pasta.

"Th-thanks." I stutter. Quickly, I busy myself by stuffing my face with the pasta. He scoots closer to me. I can now tell that he has dark blonde hair and green eyes.

"I'm Jacob." He offers his hand out. I smile.

"Massie. You sing pretty good." I stab a bowtie and nibble on it.

He laughs. "Oh that, that's just a hobby. I'm a student at NY. My major is in biology. What about you? What major are you in right now?"

My heart beats fast. He thinks I'm a college student. I gain control and then just tell him the truth. "I'm a ballet dancer and New York City Ballet, but I study at Julliard." There, that's true.

"Oh wow, Julliard and a ballerina. You must be talented." He picks up his BUdwieser, that the waitress just delievered to him, and sips it. "So, how hard is the life of a ballerina? I mean, you must go through like three shows a night."

I have to stop myself from jumping up and screaming with happiness. This guy, Jacob, is the first pedestrian I've ever met that understands the effort that goes into ballet. Most people want to know if the guy dancers are striaght or somethign like that. "IT's hard. ANd painful. But i really enjoy it."

He grins. We talk for a long time, and then I remember i have rehersals. "I've got to go." I say, getting up and ready to leave.

"Here's my number." He scribbles his phone number on a Post-It and hands it to me. Our hands brush and I feel a spark of happiness. Jacob walks me to the door, and opens it for me. "Text me or something, okay?" He smiles and then turns around to go back inside. ONce he's gone, I start squealing and hop up and down.

"Fly me to the moon." I sing as I hurry back to NYCB, my navy blue Coach flats sparkling in the cool Fall wind.


	6. Strangers in the Night

Chapter 6:

"And relax," Madame Aurelie stops the fondue combination, her thin black skirt rubbing aginst her aging knees and then rolls up. Everyone's knees pop and we simutaiounsly groan and moan as the music stops. Madame rolls her eyes. "Muscles popping...pish posh. One time, George Balenchine made us do develope's for three hours. We only stopped when we had to dial 9-1-1 for a dancer that dropped dead. Stretch," She whirls around and walks to the piano player. "Ah, petite amie. Do play with more umph..." Her voice trails off.

Zoe leans against the barre. She's been exceptionally teacher's pet like today, from doing everything Madame asks to being the perfect ballerina. Her blonde hair is pulled up in a very tight and slick bun, and her black leotard is spotless. She lifts her right leg to the barre and stretches over it. Someone sits down behind me. I shiver in surprise. "So..." Daisy's voice comes out from behind my legs.

"So what?" I say, running my sweaty hands down my tights and sliding down into a split.

Daisy purses her reflective pink lips. "I heard from Sonia, who heard from Gina, who heard from Sara that you met a very cute boy today." She wrinkles her nose and then leans over her legs, which are bent in butterfly position.

Zoe raises her plucked eyebrows. "A boy?" She arches her back and then switches legs.

I blush, making the light dusting of Milani's Luminoso blush darker on my cheeks. Daisy giggles and Zoe "hmph's". "I did talk to a musician today, but that was about it." I pick at my cuticles. "But who needs boys? I've got everything I need here; my besties, ballet, and food. Life is good."

Zoe smiles. She opens her mouth to say something, but Madame Aurelie claps her hands. "Everyone. Next combination. Battements on qua. Ah five-six-seven-eight." Daisy runs over back to her spot on the barre and we begin the combonation. Sweat pours down my head as Madame Aurelie examines my figure. I use my head, suck in everything, and make sure my arms are correct. She glances over me like I am a boring piece of toast, eyes narrowed and lips pursed and then goes down the line to Zoe, who is a beautiful cake compared to me, the toast. My heart drops and I bite my lip to keep from screaming in frustation.

* * *

I get home at 10:46. My muscles ach, and my stomach growls. After Madame Aurelie's glance over, I decided to stay an extra few hours after Peter's bone breaking rehersals and do some yoga, Birkin, and a late night intensive. All I want to do is curl up in bed after a hot shower, with a mug of Celestial Seasonings tea, food, and watch brainless TV. I flip the lights on. Zoe's not home yet. She probally went out with her boyfriend, Archer. Lucy, our housekeeper, is in the kitchen, cleaning the counters. Sam zips around her feet. Lucy smiles when she sees me. "Massie! Darrling. Have a good day?" Her wrinkles stretch across her cheeks and her gray bun bounces around her neck. She sighs when she sees me slowly and achingly pull off my jacket and drop my keys into my purse. "Honey, you overwork yourself. Go take a nice hot shower and I'll make you some chicken soup, okay?" I shake my head.

"Lucy, it's okay. Your shift ends in ten minutes. Don't worry." I pick up my things and slowly climb the swirling stairs. Lucy ignores me and starts putting a pot on the stove. "Lucy?"

She opens the fridge. "Massie, go take a shower. I've got it all under control. I'll just make everything for you, take the food and dogs upstairs, lock up, and then leave. Go shower, hon."

I nod weakly at the motherly housekeeper and then drag myself to my bathroom. There, I soak in the French tub for twenty minutes, which is full of Epsom salts and bubbles. I shower it all off and clean my face, body, and shampoo my hair and then step out of the steamy air. I slip into long pajama pants with sheep on them and a Gap t-shirt and turn the lights off. I open the bathroom door and the smell of chicken and rice soup fills my nose. On my bed is a steamy bowl of chicken and rice soup, Sleepytime tea, some water, Ginger Ale, Advil, cough drops, chocolate, and other things that I might need. I smile. Sam is asleep on my bed. I shuffle over in fuzzy socks and then collaspe into the pillows. My muscles ache as I lift the spoon to my lips, or try to sip some tea. I finish the pot of soup and the kettle of tea and sip on some Ginger Ale. I finally take an Advil, rub some Icy-Hot on my sore legs, and then flip the lights off. I fall asleep before Zoe ever comes back.

* * *

I wake up to Gossip Girl on the TV. I blink a few times and then raise up my head. There is a slight scent of champane in the air, and chicken dominates the area. I look over at Zoe's bed. She's sprawled out over the white fluffy duvet, wearign only a lemon yellow sports bra and gray Cosabella boy shorts. An emerald Gucci silk peplum blouse is on the floor, along with a pair of tight dark wash jeans, a black Miu Miu tube clutch, and black platform strappy Louboutins. I hear her lightly snoring and I throw a pillow at her. She makes a sound with her mouth and rolls over. I slowly get out of bed and shuffle downstairs. There, I slowly make a protien packed smoothie and eat a piece of toast with peanut butter on it.

I pull my hair back in a high ponytail and pull on a pair of gray Nike running pants and a loose NYU fashion week t-shirt. After slipping on my tennis shoes, i grab a water bottle and a CLIFF bar. After that, I head into the elevator and down to the first floor, where I go into the penthouse building's excersize room. I run seven miles on the eliptical and then stretch on the yoga ball for an hour. Once my muscles are warm and stretched, I go back to the apartment. Zoe is still asleep. I'm vaguely guessing she's nursing a hangover. I grab my dance bag and then head outside to catch a cab to the theater.

* * *

two hours later, I'm sitting in the dressing room, breaking in a pair of pointe shoes. I slam the boxes into the hinges of the door and then step on them, until I hear a pop. Adrianna and Daisy are on the floor, gossiping and flipping through Cosmo and People magazines. "OMG." Daisy stabs a page in People with her finger. "Miranda Kerr SO did not wear that hideous dress."

Adrianna picks it up and examines the magazine. "That's so ugly."

I slam my hands on the pointe shoe. They've been talking about the Oscars, which were a while ago, and who dressed best. Aparently, Miranda Kerr and some of the Kardashians weren't on it. I soak a bit of water on the toe of the shoe and then watch it dry. the dressing room door opens up. Bea steps in, wearing an oversized sweat shirt and tight navy leggings. "What's up?" She drops her dance bag and theater case and hands me a togo bag from our favorite Chinese resturant. I untie the plastic. In New York, of course they would have an all organic, low fat, perfect for a diet, Chinese resturant. After popping some of the cartons open, I start eating light Sesame chicken, organic Lo Mein, low fat fried rice, and light Beef and Brocolli. Bea sits down with me and we dig in. Daisy gets up from the floor and stretches. She looks like a traffic cone today, wearing a bright orange romper over her gray leotard and tights. Apparently, her therapist told her orange makes someone look skinnier.

"You're making me hungry." She opens the fridge and looks arond for another one of her disgusting diet meals. Adrianna throws on a pink jacket and slips on a pair of TOMS.

She picks up her purse and walks out the door. "Going to get lunch. Want anything?" She asks. we all shake our heads.

Daisy lets her meal cook in the microwave. "Hey Daze." Bea says. "Can you toss me a Diet Coke?"

I spoon fried rice into my mouth. "And give me some Evian?"

Daisy rolls her eyes. "Diet Coke is FULL of sugar, Bee. why do you drink it?" She gives us our drinks and leans on her hip.

I wipe sauce off my mouth and glare at her. "I'm sure eating meals that have been cooked in teh microwave 24-7 is very good for you. In fact, radiation could be leaking out of you right now. If you have radiation in you, your'e skin will start getting sweaty and dry." I lie. Bea softly giggles and i elbow her in the ribs.

"Nuh-uh." Daisy pouts like a little child, but when she thinks we're not looking, she examines her arm and widens her arms and her dry skin. The microwave beeps and Daisy pulls out another black tray. She joins us on the floor, and rips the plastic back. Bea's nose wrinkles in disgust.

"What is that?" She asks, leaning away from the tray.

Daisy unwraps a fork. "Chicken zuchinni pot pie."

My mouth curls. "That looks disgusting."

Daisy shovels some in her mouth. Her eyes squint and she starts hacking on it. I hand her a napkin. She spits it out. "OHMYGOD THAT WAS THE WORST THING I HAVE EVER TRIED IN MY FREAKING LIFE!" She yells.

Bea bursts into laughter, and soon, we're all laughing. The door opens up, and we all think it's Adrianna, but it's Zoe.

She's wearing oversized Gucci sunglasses, holding a huge Starbucks latte, and rubbing her forhead. "Mm.." She says to us, instead of a hello.

Daisy throws away the pie and pulls a fruit cup out. She starts eating chunks of pineapple. "Where have you been?" She asks. "You missed company class AND the Firebird rehersal."

Zoe pulls off the sunglasses. Her eyes are red and puffy. "Eek, Zoe." I say. "what happened?"

She rubs her scalp, messing up her jacked up blonde ponytail. "I drank to much champane." She moans.

Adrianna bursts through the door. She's got a Greek Gyro sandwhich in one hand and a water in the other. Her eyes are wide. "Julia just passed out in the theater." She yells. All of us get up and run to the theater, where the Scherzo a la Russe rehersal was going on. Julia, who is a soloist, hardly ever gets hurt or sick. My palms start sweating. I'm scared for Julia, because she could have ended her dancing career, but the mean, snarky, and comeptitive side of me says that if she stops, a new soloist spot is opened up.

We throw open the double doors leading to the Green Room and run on stage. Lottie and Joanna are calling for help on thier iPhones nearby Julia, who is sprawled out across the black stage. Daniel is leaning over her, trying to feel her pulse. Peter runs in from the other side of the stage and he and Daniel try to figure out whats wrong. I walk over to Lottie. "What happened?" I ask

Lottie pulls a piece of auburn hair back behind her ear and bites her lip. "She was doing the complicated turn sequence-pique pique lame duck leap leap tor jete. She jumped really high on the tor jete and landed on her face. Her feet didn't touch the floor first, either. They think she passed out in mid air and now has a concussion."

My heart drops. Julia is lying right side up, which means Daniel rolled her off her face. Her eyes are squeezed shut and she's still. Suddenly, I'm aware of how skinny she is; her pale skin glowing luminesciantly under the bright stage lights, thick black hair working it's way out of her bun and making her angled cheekbones protrude sharply, muscular legs like toothpicks and her arms like china. An ambulene wails in the background. Seeing Julie makes me naseous. Will ballet really make me look like that? I mean, I'm already natrually skinny and tiny. Julia was petite when she first started NYCB. I've seen pictures of her. A whoosh echoes through my head. My brain spins. And then I fall down onto the stage, screams echoing around me.

The last thing i remember is Zoe leaning over me, yelling. The picture of her face in surprise and scared fades away into darkness, leaving me with the strange craving of wanting a bowl of bowtie pasta and a few faint bars of Strangers in the Night by Frank Sinatra.

**Hey guys!**

**Sorry I haven't posted a chapter in a while. BTW, there are a few changes in this chapter that wasn't orginal. The guy that Lottie danced with in chapters 1-2, Sam, is now Daniel. Ivanna, the pomeranian, is now Sam the miniature black lab. Just thought i should change things up. Comment some plot twists if you have time. **


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